Chapter 15 Chapter Thirteen Winter Night
"Where is Joram?" asked Saryon, when he saw the prince return to the clearing.Catalyst Saints stared wide-eyed in amazement at Jarod's pale face, his muddy clothes, and the blood on his white shirt oozing from some wound he had left in the fight with Joram.
"Rest in peace, Father," said Jarod wearily. "He's in the woods behind, we... talked for a while..." The prince smiled miserably, looking down at the torn clothes. "He needs time to think. At least, I hope he can think about it."
"He's outside? Just himself?" Saryon pressed, looking into the forest.Above the treetops, gray clouds flitted across the sky, and a dignified black cloud cluster was gradually forming in the northwest direction.The wind changed direction, it was getting warmer, and the air was heavy with dampness—it was going to rain, and it would snow in the evening.
"He'll be fine." Garald reached out and ran his hands through his wet hair. "We didn't find any signs of centaurs in this forest. Besides, he's not alone, indeed." The prince glanced at the camp.
Saryon followed his gaze and immediately understood that there was only one Dukexis in the camp.The catalyst saints didn't feel relieved, but even more worried. "Excuse me, sir," Saryon said hesitantly. "But Joram is... a criminal, and I know they've heard our conversation," he waved his hand at the silent black robe. "Nothing escapes their eyes, what—"
"What's to stop them disobeying my orders and taking Joram back to Merilon? Nothing." Jarod shrugged. "Of course I can't stop them, but, you know, Father, as my personal bodyguards, they have sworn to serve me until death. If they betray and take that boy against my order, they won't get Heroic welcome; on the contrary, for breaking the vows they have taken, they will receive the most severe punishment that the order can give. In a demanding person like them, that kind of punishment--" The prince shuddered. "I can't even think about it. No." He shrugged and smiled. "Joran doesn't deserve them."
Joram wasn't worth it—but Merilon's prince certainly was, Saryon thought, and he must guard his secret more closely.
The prince went back to the tent to rest, and Saryon went back to sit by the hot spring pool, and found that Radisovic followed the prince after seeing a gesture from Jarod.Duke Xisi, who remained in the camp, stood silently, hiding under his black hood, seeing everything and not caring about anything.Simkin lay by the steaming water, teasing the raven, trying to coax it into talking with a piece of sausage.
"Come on, you bad bird," said Simkin. "Tell me: 'The prince is a fool! The prince is a fool!' Talk to Simkin, and Simkin will feed you good meat."
The bird looked sullenly at Simkin, its head held up on one side, but made no sound.
"Hush, you idiot!" Mosiah murmured, calling Simkin, not the bird.He pointed to the silk tent. "Aren't we in enough trouble?"
"What? Oh, Jarod? Forget it!" Simkin grinned and twirled his beard. "He'd think it was funny, he's a jokester himself. He'd brought a live bear into a court masquerade before and introduced it to the crowd as Captain Jessair's Blowing Nose. You Should have seen the King, who had been talking politely to the Colonel, and tried not to notice that the bear was munching on his collar, but strangely enough, the bear didn't win the Best Costume Award. Now, you red-eyed fiend from hell." Simkin stared at the raven unhappily. "Say: 'The prince is a fool! The prince is a fool!'" He raised his voice, imitating the song of a bird.
The raven raised its yellow feet and scratched the beak in a very disrespectful gesture.
"Stupid bird!" Simkin scolded angrily.
"Simkin is a fool! Simkin is a fool!" cried the raven.It flapped its wings, jumped up from the ground, snatched away the piece of meat from Xin Jin's hand, and flew to a nearby tree with the reward.
Simkin laughed out loud with joy, but Mosiah was more worried.He leaned closer to Saryon, glanced at Duke Xisi worriedly, and then asked in a low voice, "What do you think happened? What does the prince plan to do with us?"
"I don't know." Saryon replied sadly. "A lot depends on Joram's attitude."
"Yeah! Then we'll all be hanged." Simkin interrupted cheerfully, slid over and sat down beside the Catalyst Saint. "The two of them had a terrible fight this morning. The prince wants to tear our poor friend's bones, skin and hang him to dry, because Joran, who is always wary, calls His Highness the Crown Prince..." Simkin didn't say what it was , just pointed to that place on his body.
"The name of Emin!" Mosiah gasped, his face turned pale.
"Pray all you like, though I doubt it will work," said Simkin feebly, wetting his hands in the hot water. "We can only take chances, and hope he just called your lord... you know, and didn't make him like the hapless Earl of Chambray. That happened when the earl quarreled with Lord Roethke, and that Then the Count cried, 'You are a—' the Baron cried, 'So are you!' Then he took his saint, and cast a spell, and made the Count really like that, in front of the ladies, in full view, It's disgusting."
"You think that's the case?" Mosiah asked worriedly.
"I swear on my mother's grave!" Sim Jin yawned as he swore.
"No, I don't mean the count," said Mosiah. "I mean Joram."
The Catalyst Saint looked towards the woods. "I don't doubt it," he said sullenly.
"Hanging is not a very bad way to die," commented Simkin, lying on the grass and looking up at the gathering clouds. "Of course, is there a good way to die? That's still a question."
"They don't hang people anymore," said Mosiah angrily.
"Ah, but they may consider us an exception," replied Simkin.
"Simkin's a fool! Simkin's a fool!" the raven croaked in a tree, hopping closer for more sausages.
Is he a silly clown?Saryon asked himself.No.The Catalyst Saint thought uneasily.If he was right, and Joram had insulted the Prince, then—though Simkin himself might not have noticed, he might have told the truth for the first time in his life.
By mid-afternoon, the storm had struck, pouring rain and clouds so low they would be pierced by towering treetops.Relying on the life force bestowed by the cardinal, the prince built a transparent magic barrier for the clearing to protect them from the heavy rain.However, in order to have enough power to cast magic, Jarod had to withdraw the hot springs.Saryon watched with regret as the hot pool disappeared. The magic barrier kept them dry, but not particularly warm.It also gave Catalyst Saints the odd feeling of seeing rain pouring down without getting them wet.The Rain Spear was suddenly bounced off by the invisible shield and tilted to one side. "I also miss the hot springs, but it's better than being bored in a boring tent all day, what do you think, Father?" Garald said in a chatty tone. "Under the barrier, at least we can walk outside. If you're cold, come to the fire, Father." Saryon was not in the mood for chatter, but he went and sat down by the fire anyway, and muttered a few kind words.He was still looking through the curtain of water into the forest, and hours passed without Joram returning. The cardinal also tried to chat with Saryon, but he quickly gave up seeing the catalyst saint's distraught look.Radisovik cast a meaningful glance at the prince, and retired to his tent to meditate. Jarod, Mosiah, and Simkin gather around the fire to play tarot.The game started slowly. Playing cards with the prince made Mosiah very nervous. He dropped the cards twice and dealt the wrong cards once again. He also made frequent mistakes in the process of playing cards, so Simkin proposed to let the prince A raven came to take his place.But Garrod did not lose his demeanor, nor did he lose his calm and dignified demeanor, and he quickly let Mosiah relax and calm down. Later, he not only dared to joke in front of the prince, but also boldly made a small joke with a blushing face. But Saryon watched uncomfortably as Jarod tried to bring the conversation back to Joram, urging Mosiah to tell stories of their childhood between the cards.Mosiah never quite got over her homesickness, but was too happy to remember her childhood in the countryside.Garrod listened carefully to all the stories, and kept praising Mosiah, sometimes letting him drag the subject far away, and always deftly bringing the conversation back to Joram with a seemingly casual question. Why does he have this interest?The more Saryon thought about it, the more worried he became.What is he suspicious of?The Catalyst saint recalled what had happened to them. He remembered the strange and focused look the prince had given Joram, as if he was trying to remember where he had seen such a face before.Jarod had often been a guest at Merillon Court as a child.For Saryon, his secret became heavier: Joram was looking more and more like his birth mother, the Empress.The way he raised his head arrogantly, and threw his gorgeous messy black hair behind him, always made Saryon want to yell at others—"Don't you understand? Fools! Are you blind?" Maybe Jarod did see it, maybe he wasn't blind.Certainly he was shrewd and disarmingly charismatic, he was Albanara, born politically, born to rule.In his mind, the country and the people come first. What would he do if he really knew or suspected the truth?Saryon couldn't imagine.Probably no different than what he was doing now - until it was time to go.The Catalyst Saint felt his head hurt from thinking about it, but he couldn't think of anything.At this time, the time passed by minute by minute, the cloudy afternoon turned into a cloudy night, and the rain turned into snow. But Joram still didn't come back.
The game was interrupted and dinner began.The menu included a picnic stew prepared by the prince himself, and the prince finally explained with some pride the various side dishes used in its preparation, boasting that he had collected all the herbs he had collected during his travels. Saryon pretended to taste so as not to offend the prince, but in fact he secretly fed most of the food to the ravens.Duke Sis, who had watched over Joram, had returned, and another had left to take his place, or so Saryon supposed.He couldn't tell the two guards apart because their faces were hidden from view under black hoods.The wizard and Jarod were talking quietly, and Saryon saw the prince glance towards the forest and understood what they were talking about.As soon as the conversation was over, the Prince walked towards the Catalyst Saint, further confirming Saryon's suspicions. "Joran is all right and safe, Father," Jarod told him. "Please don't worry too much. He found a hole in the side of the cliff to hide. He needs to be alone for a while. I think I gave him a deep wound, but it will not be fatal. A little blood will make him all right." Saryon was not persuaded by these words, and neither was Mosiah. "Do you remember his usual dark mood, Father?" Mosiah said softly, sitting down beside the Catalyst Saint, fiddling with the uneaten food.The raven landed on the catalyst saint's left hand, looking at them both hungry. "He hasn't been so depressed recently, but I've seen him lie in bed for several days before, not eating or talking, just staring at somewhere." "I know. If he doesn't come back in the morning, we'll go find him." Saryon made up his mind. The snow was still falling, and the prince had to remove the magic barrier, because maintaining the shield in the snow would drain both himself and the Cardinal.Simkin and Mosiah spent the night in the prince's big tent, and Saryon accepted Radisovik's kindness. As for Dukexis, they both disappeared, but the catalyst saints knew they were nearby to protect the prince.Catalyst saints can't think of any time they'll ever get to sleep, he's heard rumors that wizards can put mind and body to sleep, while maintaining uninterrupted vigilance.This sounds unbelievable. He always thought it was a legend and didn't take it seriously. Saryon was happy to think of little things to keep him from worrying, so he lay in the dark, thinking about it, listening for the creaking of footsteps in the snow.Finally, he fell asleep, but his sleep was restless.He woke up several times during the night. In order not to disturb the sleeping cardinal, he always tiptoed to the curtain of the tent and gently parted the curtain to look out. What he expected to see, even he himself did not know.It was snowing heavily, and even the prince's tent, which was close at hand, could barely see a dark shadow.He noticed that he was not the only one watching. He had seen a ray of light from Jarod's tent, and thought that the tall figure he saw in the snow was the prince, and the prince was also gazing into the night.
In the morning, the snow stopped.Lying on a thick cushion, the catalyst saint saw the morning light slowly creeping into his tent, casting silhouettes of continuous branches of trees bearing the snow, and dragging a shining trail of light on the vast expanse of snow outside the tent. He closed his eyes and forced himself to sleep when he heard what he'd been waiting for - footsteps. Saryon's heart lightened, and he quickly got up and opened the curtain.Then, he paused and took another step back. Joram stood in the middle of the snow-flooded clearing, wrapped in a heavy cloak.Where did the cloak come from?Did Duke Xis bring it to him?Saryon wondered, and waited breathlessly to see what Joram would do. Joram stepped through snow half a boot high, and stopped outside the prince's tent.He reached under his cloak, drew the Darksword, and held it tightly in his hand. Saryon retreated into the shadow of the tent, relief turning to fear at the look on Joram's face. Saryon wondered what he'd expected from the young man--that Joram would become meek and meek, repenting of his past mistakes, humbly begging everyone's forgiveness, and swearing better things, if at all. life?No—Saryon could not imagine such a situation. Will Joram become irritable, rebellious, determined to be evil in his own way, and very willing for others to be like him?That's much more realistic.In fact, this is exactly what the Catalyst Saint expected. He found that compared with the Joran he saw now, he would rather Joran become that way. The young man's face was completely expressionless.Joram, pale with sunken cheeks and dark circles around his eyes, waited without a word, standing motionless outside the Prince's tent, his sword clutched tightly in both hands. The footsteps that Saryon heard, Jarod must have heard as well.He came out, and when he faced the strange figure outside the tent, he stopped in his tracks.The Prince was in no danger, Duke Xis was near, and their magic would break him before Joram could raise his sword. It was Joram who was in danger, Garald knew that, and stepped out slowly, arms outstretched. "Joran." He greeted gently and kindly. "Your Excellency." The reply was indifferent, deliberately taking away any emotion.Jarod sighed softly as his shoulders slumped in frustration.Then he lost patience, and it looked like the arrogant young man had finally pissed him off. "What do you think?" Prince Jarod sneered. Joram pursed his lips, he took a deep breath, and then exhaled slowly, his black eyes fixed on a certain place on the prince's shoulder. "We don't have much time," he began, as if speaking to the distance, to the bare trees, to the bright blue sky, to the thin morning light of the rising sun. "One week, you said." The words were very cold, but Saryon was pleasantly surprised to see the warmth exhaled by the two of them when they spoke, which condensed into mist in the cold air.Joram swallowed, and tightened his grip on the Dark Sword. "I still have a lot to learn," he said. Garrod's face lit up, and the smile on his face was warmer than the hot spring.He took a step forward, as if intending to grab the young man, pat him on the back, or make a gesture of joy like hugging his shoulder.But Saryon saw Joram's face tense, his whole body rigid.The prince saw it too, and restrained his impulse. "I'll get the sword." After saying that, he returned to the tent. Unaware that someone else was watching—the Catalyst Saint had been careful not to make a sound—Joram breathed a sigh of relief.He looked away, looking straight at the place where the prince was standing just now, and Saryon thought he saw a look of regret on that resolute face.Joram opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something, but he turned around suddenly, and his mouth tightened.When the prince came out in a fur cloak and sword in hand, Joram's expression on him was as cold as the snow. Saryon's heart ached when he saw how much he longed for affection.But whenever someone held out his hand to him, Joram always pushed the person away. The two walked in silence, and the prince glanced at Joram now and then, while Joram walked nonchalantly, keeping his eyes on his destination.In the distance, on the edge of the woodland, the Catalyst Saint saw a black figure moving out from behind a certain tree trunk, silently and slowly following the two of them. Saryon found himself shivering and went back to bed.He huddled under the blanket, knowing he should pray to Emin, thanking Him for the young man's safe return. But Saryon didn't bother the prayerless, perhaps non-existent god.Thinking of Joram's changed attitude and the growing determination behind this attitude to achieve his goal, Saryon wondered if he should thank God. He felt that he needed God's mercy even more in the future.
By mid-afternoon, the storm had struck, pouring rain and clouds so low they would be pierced by towering treetops.Relying on the life force bestowed by the cardinal, the prince built a transparent magic barrier for the clearing to protect them from the heavy rain.However, in order to have enough power to cast magic, Jarod had to withdraw the hot springs.Saryon watched with regret as the hot pool disappeared. The magic barrier kept them dry, but not particularly warm.It also gave Catalyst Saints the odd feeling of seeing rain pouring down without getting them wet.The Rain Spear was suddenly bounced off by the invisible shield and tilted to one side. "I also miss the hot springs, but it's better than being bored in a boring tent all day, what do you think, Father?" Garald said in a chatty tone. "Under the barrier, at least we can walk outside. If you're cold, come to the fire, Father." Saryon was not in the mood for chatter, but he went and sat down by the fire anyway, and muttered a few kind words.He was still looking through the curtain of water into the forest, and hours passed without Joram returning. The cardinal also tried to chat with Saryon, but he quickly gave up seeing the catalyst saint's distraught look.Radisovik cast a meaningful glance at the prince, and retired to his tent to meditate. Jarod, Mosiah, and Simkin gather around the fire to play tarot.The game started slowly. Playing cards with the prince made Mosiah very nervous. He dropped the cards twice and dealt the wrong cards once again. He also made frequent mistakes in the process of playing cards, so Simkin proposed to let the prince A raven came to take his place.But Garrod did not lose his demeanor, nor did he lose his calm and dignified demeanor, and he quickly let Mosiah relax and calm down. Later, he not only dared to joke in front of the prince, but also boldly made a small joke with a blushing face. But Saryon watched uncomfortably as Jarod tried to bring the conversation back to Joram, urging Mosiah to tell stories of their childhood between the cards.Mosiah never quite got over her homesickness, but was too happy to remember her childhood in the countryside.Garrod listened carefully to all the stories, and kept praising Mosiah, sometimes letting him drag the subject far away, and always deftly bringing the conversation back to Joram with a seemingly casual question. Why does he have this interest?The more Saryon thought about it, the more worried he became.What is he suspicious of?The Catalyst saint recalled what had happened to them. He remembered the strange and focused look the prince had given Joram, as if he was trying to remember where he had seen such a face before.Jarod had often been a guest at Merillon Court as a child.For Saryon, his secret became heavier: Joram was looking more and more like his birth mother, the Empress.The way he raised his head arrogantly, and threw his gorgeous messy black hair behind him, always made Saryon want to yell at others—"Don't you understand? Fools! Are you blind?" Maybe Jarod did see it, maybe he wasn't blind.Certainly he was shrewd and disarmingly charismatic, he was Albanara, born politically, born to rule.In his mind, the country and the people come first. What would he do if he really knew or suspected the truth?Saryon couldn't imagine.Probably no different than what he was doing now - until it was time to go.The Catalyst Saint felt his head hurt from thinking about it, but he couldn't think of anything.At this time, the time passed by minute by minute, the cloudy afternoon turned into a cloudy night, and the rain turned into snow. But Joram still didn't come back.
The game was interrupted and dinner began.The menu included a picnic stew prepared by the prince himself, and the prince finally explained with some pride the various side dishes used in its preparation, boasting that he had collected all the herbs he had collected during his travels. Saryon pretended to taste so as not to offend the prince, but in fact he secretly fed most of the food to the ravens.Duke Sis, who had watched over Joram, had returned, and another had left to take his place, or so Saryon supposed.He couldn't tell the two guards apart because their faces were hidden from view under black hoods.The wizard and Jarod were talking quietly, and Saryon saw the prince glance towards the forest and understood what they were talking about.As soon as the conversation was over, the Prince walked towards the Catalyst Saint, further confirming Saryon's suspicions. "Joran is all right and safe, Father," Jarod told him. "Please don't worry too much. He found a hole in the side of the cliff to hide. He needs to be alone for a while. I think I gave him a deep wound, but it will not be fatal. A little blood will make him all right." Saryon was not persuaded by these words, and neither was Mosiah. "Do you remember his usual dark mood, Father?" Mosiah said softly, sitting down beside the Catalyst Saint, fiddling with the uneaten food.The raven landed on the catalyst saint's left hand, looking at them both hungry. "He hasn't been so depressed recently, but I've seen him lie in bed for several days before, not eating or talking, just staring at somewhere." "I know. If he doesn't come back in the morning, we'll go find him." Saryon made up his mind. The snow was still falling, and the prince had to remove the magic barrier, because maintaining the shield in the snow would drain both himself and the Cardinal.Simkin and Mosiah spent the night in the prince's big tent, and Saryon accepted Radisovik's kindness. As for Dukexis, they both disappeared, but the catalyst saints knew they were nearby to protect the prince.Catalyst saints can't think of any time they'll ever get to sleep, he's heard rumors that wizards can put mind and body to sleep, while maintaining uninterrupted vigilance.This sounds unbelievable. He always thought it was a legend and didn't take it seriously. Saryon was happy to think of little things to keep him from worrying, so he lay in the dark, thinking about it, listening for the creaking of footsteps in the snow.Finally, he fell asleep, but his sleep was restless.He woke up several times during the night. In order not to disturb the sleeping cardinal, he always tiptoed to the curtain of the tent and gently parted the curtain to look out. What he expected to see, even he himself did not know.It was snowing heavily, and even the prince's tent, which was close at hand, could barely see a dark shadow.He noticed that he was not the only one watching. He had seen a ray of light from Jarod's tent, and thought that the tall figure he saw in the snow was the prince, and the prince was also gazing into the night.
In the morning, the snow stopped.Lying on a thick cushion, the catalyst saint saw the morning light slowly creeping into his tent, casting silhouettes of continuous branches of trees bearing the snow, and dragging a shining trail of light on the vast expanse of snow outside the tent. He closed his eyes and forced himself to sleep when he heard what he'd been waiting for - footsteps. Saryon's heart lightened, and he quickly got up and opened the curtain.Then, he paused and took another step back. Joram stood in the middle of the snow-flooded clearing, wrapped in a heavy cloak.Where did the cloak come from?Did Duke Xis bring it to him?Saryon wondered, and waited breathlessly to see what Joram would do. Joram stepped through snow half a boot high, and stopped outside the prince's tent.He reached under his cloak, drew the Darksword, and held it tightly in his hand. Saryon retreated into the shadow of the tent, relief turning to fear at the look on Joram's face. Saryon wondered what he'd expected from the young man--that Joram would become meek and meek, repenting of his past mistakes, humbly begging everyone's forgiveness, and swearing better things, if at all. life?No—Saryon could not imagine such a situation. Will Joram become irritable, rebellious, determined to be evil in his own way, and very willing for others to be like him?That's much more realistic.In fact, this is exactly what the Catalyst Saint expected. He found that compared with the Joran he saw now, he would rather Joran become that way. The young man's face was completely expressionless.Joram, pale with sunken cheeks and dark circles around his eyes, waited without a word, standing motionless outside the Prince's tent, his sword clutched tightly in both hands. The footsteps that Saryon heard, Jarod must have heard as well.He came out, and when he faced the strange figure outside the tent, he stopped in his tracks.The Prince was in no danger, Duke Xis was near, and their magic would break him before Joram could raise his sword. It was Joram who was in danger, Garald knew that, and stepped out slowly, arms outstretched. "Joran." He greeted gently and kindly. "Your Excellency." The reply was indifferent, deliberately taking away any emotion.Jarod sighed softly as his shoulders slumped in frustration.Then he lost patience, and it looked like the arrogant young man had finally pissed him off. "What do you think?" Prince Jarod sneered. Joram pursed his lips, he took a deep breath, and then exhaled slowly, his black eyes fixed on a certain place on the prince's shoulder. "We don't have much time," he began, as if speaking to the distance, to the bare trees, to the bright blue sky, to the thin morning light of the rising sun. "One week, you said." The words were very cold, but Saryon was pleasantly surprised to see the warmth exhaled by the two of them when they spoke, which condensed into mist in the cold air.Joram swallowed, and tightened his grip on the Dark Sword. "I still have a lot to learn," he said. Garrod's face lit up, and the smile on his face was warmer than the hot spring.He took a step forward, as if intending to grab the young man, pat him on the back, or make a gesture of joy like hugging his shoulder.But Saryon saw Joram's face tense, his whole body rigid.The prince saw it too, and restrained his impulse. "I'll get the sword." After saying that, he returned to the tent. Unaware that someone else was watching—the Catalyst Saint had been careful not to make a sound—Joram breathed a sigh of relief.He looked away, looking straight at the place where the prince was standing just now, and Saryon thought he saw a look of regret on that resolute face.Joram opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something, but he turned around suddenly, and his mouth tightened.When the prince came out in a fur cloak and sword in hand, Joram's expression on him was as cold as the snow. Saryon's heart ached when he saw how much he longed for affection.But whenever someone held out his hand to him, Joram always pushed the person away. The two walked in silence, and the prince glanced at Joram now and then, while Joram walked nonchalantly, keeping his eyes on his destination.In the distance, on the edge of the woodland, the Catalyst Saint saw a black figure moving out from behind a certain tree trunk, silently and slowly following the two of them. Saryon found himself shivering and went back to bed.He huddled under the blanket, knowing he should pray to Emin, thanking Him for the young man's safe return. But Saryon didn't bother the prayerless, perhaps non-existent god.Thinking of Joram's changed attitude and the growing determination behind this attitude to achieve his goal, Saryon wondered if he should thank God. He felt that he needed God's mercy even more in the future.